


The Train Case-- (Already Married Version One)

by MonikersAndSobriquets



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: DaVinci Code reference, F/M, Gen, Multi, Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 04:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonikersAndSobriquets/pseuds/MonikersAndSobriquets
Summary: Some months after Sherrenford, and all that visit entailed, Sherlock has become mopey... more so then usual. That is, until a parcel arrives. Inside is a case. Literally. A train case made of leather, with several added embellishments.A woman has commissioned Sherlock to uncover her identity, not because she has forgotten it, but because she never knew it in the first place. Her husband has asked her to come home, to get married in a true and legal sense, but how can she give him her hand, and takes his name, when she doesn't know her own?





	1. The Parcel

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rough draft copy of this work, and so there will be some formatting errors.
> 
> There will also be two different versions of the same idea that I will be uploading. There will be "The Train Case" version and "The Troubadour" version.

Chapter One: The Parcel Arrives.

Several months have passed since the emotional and tumultuous experience with Eurus, from the Sherrinford prison island, back to the British Isle and back to living as though he is an island himself. Case after case flit by, the entertainment and distraction lasting for the duration of the case, but with each passing week a change has started to emerge. Where once the boredom would be staved off, now the ennui appears more frequently. It’s more than that… or perhaps, not more, but different. Occasionally, it appears in the moments when they work together. He spends more and more time in single places. When he’s out of 221b, he’s increasingly reluctant to return, and when he’s home, while his feet wish to move, his body grows heavy. A heaviness sits at the back of his mind weighing him down, the light joking less effortless.

John too struggles with a sense of uneasiness. The woman he loved, and misses, still occasionally haunts him, making him at times, recalcitrant, short-tempered, reflective, or even gloomy. At first, john believes that the change in Sherlock is for his benefit. Staying out later, after a case is finished.

It’s a dreary Tuesday when he visits Baker Street, Mrs Hudson stepping out to meet him.

“hello love. it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.” she says.

“has it been?” says john.

“oh, weeks and weeks. I’m glad you’re here though. Maybe you can get him to cheer up a bit.”

“what are you talking about?” says john. “I saw him yesterday, on that case in Gloucestershire.”

“Well you haven’t seen him in the flat. I was just going to bring up some food, to try and get him to eat.”

John follows Mrs Hudson where they both find Sherlock, not in his chair, but on the couch. Music plays softly from a player on the floor, remote resting centimeters away from his hand. He stares at the ceiling, his legs swung over the arm of the couch.

“Who’s with you?” asks sherlock, his voice soft.

“What are you doing sherlock?” asks John, announcing himself.

Sherlock gestures. “this.” he says. “no case has come in.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Says john. “shall I have a look.”

He gestures at the laptop which lies open.

“sherlock, come have something to eat.”

He groans. “why do you insist on trying to fatten me up? John, would you please oblige mrs Hudson by providing her time with an actual child, so she can stop mothering me.”

“well how about a cuppa?” says mrs Hudson.

He doesn’t answer and turns the music up.

John sits down and reads off a case, and another, and another, but sherlock occasionally responds with a scoff, or not at all, and when the bells rings, John takes the opportunity to call attention to the situation.

“Sherlock, what is going on?”

“Didn’t we already do this?” he asks, as john turns the music off.

“what?” says sherlock.

“would you like to explain why Mrs Hudson seems to think you’re…”

“I’m what?” he asks turning back to the ceiling. His voice is soft still.

“depressed?” he says.

He scoffs, as mrs Hudson comes back up the stairs.

“sherlock, there’s a parcel for you.” she says and sherlock puts a hand out. She sighs and drops a large box right on his chest, where it makes a loud smack, and pushes air forcefully out from his diaphragm. “good god woman.” he says rubbing his chest, setting the parcel next to him as he opens a cardboard box.

“what is it?” says John.

“a case.” Says sherlock.

“there isn’t a chopped off head in there is there?” asks john.

“no. A case.” He says pulling a rectangular box made of what appears to be leather, with a keyhole. A second case emerges, smaller, a camera case.

“sherlock?” says john.

“hm?” he says setting the second on the table.

“these couldn’t be…”

“what?”

“explosive. Could it?”

“one way to find out.” he says opening the case. Inside is a small cylinder, with letters and numbers wrapped around it. on the top is a photograph of the object, opened, showing a key inside. There’s a second photograph, a closeup of a date in two weeks with what appears to be a heartbeat, a long line at the end.

“that’s… something.” Says john.

“intriguing.” Says sherlock. “off you go.” He says gesturing.

“what? oh sherlock, we both know that you’ll just correct me anyway.”

“oh, go on.” he says.

“well… alright. This is… I’ve seen one of these before.” He says holding the cylinder.

“have you?”

“yeah… I’m trying to remember where.” He says.

Sherlock types on his phone as john continues. “obviously you’re suppose to believe the key to this is inside. the photographs are taken with one of those instant printer things. The modern ones you can buy at craft shops for scrapbooking. But the camera case is…” he says picking it up. “well not for that kind of camera. It has Lecia written across it. Maybe a name? The leather’s very old and cracking… faded. Like it sat in a window?”

“very good. you’ve improved.” Says sherlock. “what else?”

“well this is… it’s a train case. For woman’s make up or toiletries. Mary had one actually, but it wasn’t as nice as this… wait.” he says.

“a cryptex.”

“what?” says sherlock.

“this.” he says pointing. “it’s a cryptex. From the Davinci code.”

“the what?” says sherlock looking even more confused.

“it’s a book. Well and a movie. This one isn’t like the one from that though, because it has numbers too. and it… well it looks like a telescope.”

Sherlock types and reads what he sees on the phone.

“the train case has added lace sewn in. The lace is old, but… maybe not as old as the leather? The stitching isn’t faded. Not at all. It’s a bright white, too. The ribbon isn’t faded either. Satiny.” He says rubbing it between his fingers.

“hm.” Says sherlock.

John looks at the last photo. “this is a polaroid. Not a printed picture. I’m guessing it’s… the deadline.” He says half smiling a bit.

“is that all?”

John takes it in.

“is there anything written on the box?” he says walking over. “no return address. Nothing very interesting about it really. The stamp is the union jack, except… look at the postmark. It’s from—”

“Switzerland.” Says sherlock. “or was mailed from there. Leica isn’t a name of a person. it’s a German company. This case was likely built between the 1920s and 1930s and was sold off from what was likely an antique shop. Procured recently, and from a poorly maintained shop. You can tell from the sticker residue. The address was typed, and instead of a note, these pictures were the means of communication so whoever sent it was avoiding having their handwriting known. The lace is new to the luggage. But is actually older than the case itself. It’s from what is likely a mantilla, a traditional Spanish veil. The

corners are what give it away. but the thread is new and stitched in by hand. Very small stitches by a left-handed person most likely. Possibly stitched on as recently as a week ago. So, whoever sent this is likely a woman, of romantic notion, possibly with no concept of how varied the lineage of these items are. A slapdash mixture made to appear baroque, but obviously not actually.” he says indicating the cryptex.

“well that has to be special made.” Says john. “since it comes from a book and all Plus, it’s got numbers too. I’ll bet those aren’t easy to come by. She might have had to pay someone to make it specifically for her to include that… which means the numbers are important. Maybe the date is part of the code?”

Sherlock nods. “I think we might want to x-ray these.” He says.

“so, you’re going to try to open it?”

“I see no reason why not.” Says sherlock. “until something better comes along.

“off out mrs Hudson.”

“oh, eat something while you’re out at least.”

Sherlock groans a bit before they leave, john driving them to Bart’s.

“sherlock.” he says to him as they drive the short distance. “you don’t think this could be Irene Addler?”

“don’t be ridiculous. Why would she go through the effort?”

“perhaps if you haven’t been responding to her she might. She seems the type.”

“have you forgotten the postmark?” says sherlock.

“she could have mailed it there and gotten someone to mail it back. I’m just saying. It could be here.”

“just trying to get my attention?” says sherlock before pausing. He takes out the cryptex and plugs in her measurements and her name, before being startled by music playing. a tuba sound emanates from somewhere within. “waa waa.”

And then a ticking starts.

“sherlock.” says john. the ticking stops.

Sherlock tries again in a different order, yielding the same result. But the ticking doesn’t last as long. He tries again with her phone number.

“each time the ticking gets shorter.”

“it’s the number of attempts.” Says sherlock. “it started with twelve.”

“that’s a lot of attempts.” Says john getting out of the car. “what happens when you run out?”

Sherlock pulls his phone out and types.

Did you send something to baker street? SH. “that’s why we’re x-raying.” He says as they walk in. “hello molly.” “Oh sherlock hi. What’s… what is that?” she says looking at the box of things he carries.

“things to examine.”

“he got a parcel with several odds and ends in it.” says john as they walk into the lab.

His phone ahhs.

Molly looks confused and john looks consternated.

“I don’t really want to be part of some kind of—”

“no.” says sherlock. “not from her.”

“what about Janine?” says john.

Sherlock laughs. “oh. you’re serious.” He says.

John pulls out his phone.

“oh, don’t call her.” says sherlock.

“oh, that’s funny.” Says molly.

“what?” says sherlock.

“they sent you a case. It’s a pun, right? And this?” she says touching the picture.

“don’t tou—ugh.” He says.

“what?” she says.

“fingerprints?”

“oh. oh, I’m sorry.”

“you don’t know there were any.”

“is there a reason—oh.” she says as john puts a finger up.

John. hello. I’m surprised to hear from you.

“hi Janine. Yes, I know I’m sorry for that.” they hear from the room. “absolutely we could catch up some time.”

Sherlock sighs.

“no of course not. Unless you wanted to that is… but that would probably be… well actually I was calling to ask, did you send something to baker street?”

Like- what” they hear as sherlock takes the phone and puts it on speaker phone.

“like a parcel you routed first to Switzerland?”

“… hello to you too.” she says.

“did you?” he asks.

“send you a package from Switzerland. Why would I do that?” she says.

Sherlock turns to john. “yes john. Why would she do that?” he says moving away and putting the cylinder in the x ray machine.

“is that a cryptex?” says molly.

“what?” says Janine.

John takes her off speaker phone and turns away

“apparently.” He says looking through the associated microscopic camera.

“supposedly inside it is the key to the case.” Says john to molly. “no not you. yes. listen I must go. But we should…. Catch up sometime.” He says before hanging up.

“not supposedly.” Says sherlock. “but there’s some other electric wiring.”

“like an explosive?”

Sherlock continues to look at it. “I don’t think so.”

“you don’t think so?” says john.

Sherlock takes the cryptex out and puts the case in. he looks inside and sees… papers. Or something like it.

“photographs.” Says sherlock.

“what?” says molly.

“Inside the case. There’s photographs. And other papers of some kind.”

“is that it?” says john. “can you see them?”

“maybe if it was turned. And there’s some kind of… there’s a music player it looks like.”

“a music player?”

“hooked to the lock. Sewn in.”

He turns the box and they hear a clunk.

“no good.” he says. “the folding drawers interfere too much. Although it does seem to contain jewelry as…” he pauses.

“what?” says john.

He takes the box out and starts to pick the lock, and it’s only a second before music begins to blare out of the speakers, reverberating the lace and fabric.

“AALLL ABOARD!” calls the case before the beginning to play crazy train.

“oh, that’s funny. Because it’s a train case.”

“what?” says sherlock.

“the song. It’s called—”

“going off the rails of a crazy train!” it pauses before it moves to another song, “if you having girl problems I feel bad for you son I got 99 problems and a bitch ain’t one—weeeeelll, I got a woman, way over town, that’s good to me, oh yeah!—If you say that you are mine, I’ll be here ‘til the end of time, so you got to let me know, should I stay or should I go. “

“I take it that wasn’t part of the song?”

“no. that’s—” “three different ones. Sherlock is this from… like, a stalker?” says molly.

Sherlock looks as the case.

“you’re sure there isn’t like an ear in there or something.”

“no ears, or body parts of any kind from what I could tell.” He says. he thinks for a moment.

“now what?” says john.

Sherlock pauses. “now, I suppose we get something to eat.”

…

When they return, mrs Hudson stops them. “there are more packages upstairs.”

“packages? As in plural?” he says as he walks upstairs. There’s a hat box, a large trunk a long box, and a flat instrument case.

Sherlock pauses before opening the long box, kneeling on the carpet.

“swords.” Says john.

“very perceptive.” Says sherlock. he picks up one, the one that isn’t in a scabbard and turns it to reveal strings running the length of one flat side. He stands up examining it before picking up his violin and running them across.

“well.” He says after a long note plays. He plays a short scale.

“left handed.” He says putting it back. He opens the instrument case to find a violin, before opening the case.

“it’s… costumes.” Says john.

“it is.” he says opening the box and lifting a pirate hat from it.

Sherlock pulls the costumes out, revealing progressively more normal looking clothing.

“I feel, odd going through this.” says john.

“why?”

“this is some woman’s clothing. Some unknown woman.”

Sherlock pauses at the bottom of the box. There’s a box wrapped in blue paper. He pulls it out and opens it slowly. Inside sits a deer stalker, but in navy. There’s several newspaper clippings inside it, which he lays on desk.

“He made me wear the hat.” Says one. “net phenomenon.” Says another, featuring the first of the hats. Another one, were he stands beside a family, the boy rescued, a scarf with a matching pattern.

A label that says Guess, and a printed logo for the YMCA, just the Y.

There is also a photograph. It’s of a neck, a scarf with a matching pattern to a deerstalker hat sits around it, a coat with the collar up featured. Printed and taped to the photograph is a message. “that hat is silly. Too silly for you, but perhaps not for whoever I am.”

Sherlock reads this.

“whoever I am.” Says sherlock. he turns the photo over again to look at it just as mrs Hudson knocks at the door.

“there’s someone here with a certified letter of some kind. You have to sign for it.”

Sherlock signs for it and accepts the parcel.


	2. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter arrives giving some idea of who the train case client is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rough draft work, with grammar errors present.

Chapter Two: The Letter.

Sherlock opens the package to find a legal size packaged manila envelope stamped with the word CLASSIFIED. A post it is affixed. “the letter first.” It says, typed… on what must have been a typewriter.

Sherlock turns to the smaller envelope and opens it. Inside is a card, and a letter. The card is an anniversary card. Sherlock pauses at this before opening it to find it unsigned, a letter stuck in it, typed again.

“ _Dear Detective Sherlock Holmes,_

_I had heard you liked a tricky case, so I thought sending one might peak your interest. I hope you might have gotten some inkling about what I might be requiring your services for, but there is no reason why I shouldn’t explain. I apologize in advance though since it’s very sentimental. But the case, Holmes, is for you to discover who I am._

_You see, I don’t actually know my real name. My nationality. My identity. It’s a mystery to me. It’s been a mystery to me for quite some time. Inside the case I sent are photographs, but I don’t think they’ll be helpful. They include photographs of my husband. I hope, Holmes, that you understand that some of these really should not be shared with others, so I’d recommend you sort through them before sharing any of those with your partner. There is also photographs from my travels, my work, various adventures. Things I have held onto largely for sentimental reasons. But the case… The case is the oldest possession of mine. I have owned it for so very long. I can’t be sure it was a possession from my first life, but I have always kept a tender wish for that to be the case. Obviously by now you have discovered my additions, or so I assume, but the integrity of it is unharmed._

_The classified file will have information and maps for your use. History of adventures and the like. I’ve tried to include what I could, but I travel fairly light. Not extremely so, but light enough o not warrant meticulous records of my several decades worth of life. to include a whole life would take a whole life to go through after all. But it has clues and details to the names I have used and where I have travelled, in case any of this might be useful. There are legal documents and the like as well._

_Now I must tell you how this could be, that I don’t know who I am, and why it is important now._

_I married a man, Will, in a strange land. A wedding that would not be on the books as such weddings often find themselves. A jump over a broomstick, dance around a fire, eat foods I still can’t pronounce, and actually am still not even sure that the officiator was marrying us type of wedding. I didn’t speak the language, although the context made it seem very likely. This was over a decade ago, and by over, I mean add a few more years to it. I was in my twenties, or so I assume. I didn’t know who I was then either._

_So, I have a problem. It has never much mattered to me to know what my ‘real’ identity was, because it was far more fun getting to be whoever I wanted at the time. This type of wedding didn’t require me to present identification, especially valid identification. This type of wedding was never reported to either of our countries of origin. For all intents and purposes, legally speaking we aren’t married. Even so though, we have been monogamous. Well he has been. Will isn’t particularly possessive, and so I’ve had dispensation to pursue women at my discretion. Our marriage is thus, far from traditional, as well as not being legal. That’s not to say I am any less committed to the man I married of course. The only person I would even remotely consider a relationship that includes the elements our marriage has not included_

_to this point. That of course includes it being more traditional, such as living in the same home, publicly and legally linked in matrimony._

_If Will wishes for us to be man and wife, we would have to redo he whole process. We would have to marry legally. If that were even an option he wanted to consider, I’d have to have a legal, true identity to complete the process. It would be wrong to do the whole process of bringing our private relationship to a more public one while still having a secret identity, even if that identity is secret because it is secret to me. Even if I were to move to the city and we were to take things slow, date, meet people… go about such mating rituals to test our compatibility under these different circumstances, or just to approach with caution, I don’t even know if this is something he would want to begin with. I was a bit callous when he… made suggestions of more. And, I hope you’ll forgive the flowery way of putting it, but I don’t know who I am to him either._

_I take back that I hope you’ll forgive the language. I have done my research and I think you’ll appreciate a dramatic flair, and as a dramatist I am basically incapable of resisting. You’ll see that is very true from what’s in the file. There are two cases, because there are 2 cases. They impact each other of course and belong together. One is my past, which is a mystery. One is my future, which is also a mystery. So, one case I have is one I hope you will find intriguing enough to also fulfill the other. Who am I? Who was I born as? I object to the phrase about belonging to someone, but I do not object to belonging somewhere. Where, and to what family did I belong to? Where will I belong? What is my name, and what will my prefix be? Will I be Ms, or future Mrs, or Mrs in actuality? What name will be mine upon seeing Will again? One isn’t necessary to answer the other of course, but I need to know at the very least if Will has an interest in me appearing in his life._

_I hope you don’t mind that my possessions will be delivered to you while I await that answer. I have included in the file a fill in the blank invitation. If you get an answer from him, once you are in touch with him and he gives an answer, I’ll accept whatever answer that is, so if he is unwilling to pursue a relationship further, and he says my possessions can live in the gutter for all he cares, that we will be nothing, then those are his answers. I still need to know what they are, and they are fill in the blank to allow for any answer. I wouldn’t wish to give him options he finds unacceptable. Not that there won’t be further discussion once I get an answer, but it’d be good to know if I need to make housing arrangements._

_Regardless of his answer, I would like to know who I was born as. I’ll pick up my thing and continue to hope for the second part to be solved. I do need an answer about where I will live by the proposed deadline, so I can know what arrangements I need to make and have time to make them. Please treat the train case with kindness. Everything else can be replaced so if you feel unkind enough to dump my things in a kip somewhere, although good lord please do not leave me with only the single case with clothing for the travel I’ll be doing, all of which will be dirty, but if you were to be so unkind, do keep the train case. It is a tremendous act of trust to leave it with you, and the contents of which I hope will be meaningful to my maybe husband._

_When you speak to him, do please be kind enough also to communicate that I love him. I do. Tell him I said, “I love you Will, and you are my favorite. The only competition is myself, and I have discovered that my favoritism for you is tied with my favoritism for myself and my own wants. All my wants are there, and I hope we will discuss what we both want further.” Tell him too, “I am not afraid easily. I did not_

_what we’ve had. I do not want this. And once I realized it was fear… fear of risk, I realized I was underestimating us both. For that I am sorry. I know better than to shy from risk. I refuse to be afraid of risk and ask instead what of reward. What is the point of a pirate’s life if you stay in a safe harbor instead of setting sail?”_

_Flowery I know, but my husband will probably understand what I mean by a pirate’s life. You will too I’m sure, as you look into who I have been._

_I offer you my sincerest thanks for this pursuit. I know I could ask directly, but I cannot do any of this without doing it in a way that is wholly me. As I said, I’m a dramatist. It has to be a game. A playful endeavor. And I’ll bet you may not have ever worked this kind of case. Not the reunite a married couple bullshit. No, I mean the who am I because I have no idea part. Without amnesia or drugs. well without drugs being the reason I don’t know who I am._

_I look forward to shaking your head and thanking you in person. I trust your discretion until at the very least my husband makes up his mind. It is my recommendation you make contact as quickly as possible. I will be in contact to let you know how to contact him directly, because knowing him, he’ll need to think for quite a while on what he believes he wants. He should think well on the matter. I’m not expecting an answer any time before the deadline and in fact will be hard to contact up until just before that point._

_Finally, I apologize for extraneous information. I figured you should have as much as you could in your search to discover my first identity. It’s all a bit of a jumble, but I’ve tried to separate at least some of the two cases. You’ll find separate information for the husband is largely in the case. You’ll have to figure out the code to the ‘scope’ as I think of it. It actually was made by a man who goes by Davinci if you can believe my luck. Although I helped. Obviously. It wouldn’t make noise otherwise. You won’t be able to guess it, you’ll have to find it. I’m not silly enough to leave a code as some kind of heartfelt sentimental thing someone with half a brain might guess. It’s not for example, my husband’s address, or yours. but you will officially have all the information to at least be on the road to finding it. IT is of course, not necessary to the case of my identity. I’ll offer some of the contents to my husband when I see him in person, should he wish to keep a sentimental aspect of it, but there is a possibility you might discover something from the items in the drawers that I have missed, and regardless, it’s fun to imagine the great detective trying to figure out how to get in._

_If you break the lock on it, I will take a sword to you for it though. Don’t fuck up my train case._

_Happy Hunting._

_Sincerely,_

_??_

_PS- I answer best to “Julie.” This is how my husband knows me._

…

Sherlock reads through the long letter in handwriting.

“well I suppose that explains why she typed things.”

“hmm?” says sherlock.

“that’s a woman’s handwriting?”

“supposedly.” He says.

“can you tell things from the handwriting or something?”

“Julie...” he clears his throat. “or whatever her name is, is optimistic. Her handwriting changes from quick bursts to slow though. She doesn’t cross out, she just corrects, which likely indicates she cares a great deal about image and visual perception. That she puts on a show. Dramatist aligns with it. The pen is cheap, ball point, less likely to smear. She writes as most left handed do though by turning the age almost perpendicular. She’s intelligent, or so it appears. The handwriting though doesn’t indicate she spent a lot of time being corrected for penmanship, obviously. There’s a slight upward slant, indicating a penchant for optimism. The letters are larger, meaning she seeks attention. The right lean indicates she’s outgoing. Future directed. Although the letters are large, they’re well closed, in the as and os, meaning she’s discreet. The spacing between the letters is very similar to that of the spacing between, because the space between is closer than typical. She may have a fear of abandonment. Heaviness and speed both vary depending on emotion. Her T’s indicate she’s aggressive. The G indicates… well things related to sensuality.”

“you can read that from a letter?” he says.

“yes.” says sherlock.

“well?” “well what?”

“what do you read?”

He sighs. “highly sensual, almost definitely enjoys things that derive great pleasure outside of sex such as food, luxury, possibly pornography. Tendency towards joy but may very well be abstinent from lack of opportunity. I wouldn’t be surprised that the mention of women may not be a common practice for her, and actual activity is more confined to an absent husband. But I doubt that’s relevant beyond confirming the person who wrote this is likely the person it’s supposed to represent and isn’t copying it over or being dictated to.”

“you can tell all that from how she writes her Gs?”

Sherlock reads the card before setting it down and opening the folder. Inside he finds a packet. The invitation she mentioned is lovely thick cardstock in pure white with navy hand lettering, in practiced calligraphy script. Behind it are definitions ripped directly from a dictionary or printed from the internet. There’s a sealed letter written to “Will” and behind that a blank marriage license, a petition for annulment and divorce, with some of it filled in stating there is no petition for possessions, and that it would be uncontested. All of these forms have Will written far to the left in small handwriting. Behind that is a second set of documents. It includes news articles, programs from theatrical performances, an arrest record. It includes two maps tied together with string. Sherlock puts it on the wall. Dates are listed around cities, which shows a trip from the UK to America, to the UK again.

Sherlock places items around the wall as john looks over his shoulder at the items included.

“hm.” He says.

“yes?” says sherlock.

“well this is… an interesting person.” says john.

None of the items have photographs of her or have been blacked out. Description from various arrests are present, many of which in foreign languages.

“what are these for?” says john.

“This one is for disturbing the peace, public lewdness, and violating the Russian gay propaganda law. According to this, a Julie Dehlayhe, an Irish citizen in Russia illegally organized what was called “the rainbow orgy protest.” And this is a follow up stating she escaped from an interrogation room by dislocating her thumbs, relocating them back again after removing the cuffs hooked to the table, miming the act of fellatio act the interrogation rooms camera and telling them they could, quote, sosi moy khuy. Or, suck my dick.”

John snorts in surprise. “really?”

“easy enough to verify.” “and the other one?”

“busking, or street performing, without a license.”

“performing what?”

“This one is for sword fighting in the middle of Neptunbrunnen fountain in alexanderplatz square in Berlin.”

“and I assume she makes another daring escape?”

“charges were dismissed by a government official by the name of Greta Mueller. It seems from this that She stayed two months after. The mysterious French performer Anne DeGraff assumed a stage name, for her performance both on the street as a pirate. There’s a bit of a theme there.”

…

Within the hour there is a collage of items across the wall. Articles widely vary in description of the woman and her behavior. Some of them don’t seem associated with anything. An article about wild dogs loose in the countryside. Articles about a political coup in America. A piece of artwork stolen only to be returned a week later. An act of vandalism, where a motel room is completely covered in wrapping paper, beneath which works of art were hidden. A new art exhibit announced in London, not yet open.

“how can these all be related to her.” “some of them are clues about who the husband is.”

“what now?”

…


	3. Mini Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is set up on a blind date.

 

John is out with Stamford having dinner with his girlfriend and a woman he’s never met. A set up of some kind. John still hasn’t removed hadn’t removed his wedding ring, much to Stamford’s chagrin, which is very clear as Stamford lectures him the moment the ladies have gone to the loo together.

“how could you still be wearing that?”

“mike, firstly, you didn’t tell me this was a setup, and secondly, I will wear my own wedding ring as long as I like.”

“yes, yes that’s all well and good, but that poor girl has been listening to how amazing and lovely you are—”

“I’m not less of that because I’m…”

“widowed?”

“yes. lovely to have you call attention to it.”

“you wearing the ring still calls attention to it.”

“yes, I’m sure your girl is explaining all that right this moment. Perhaps it would be best you do not try to set me up without discussing if I even want to be. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl, but…”

“you aren’t ready.”

“precisely.” He says taking a sip of his beer, just as the ladies return. They settle in and almost immediately mike makes an attempt to get the conversation moving along. “so, john, is our friend sherlock up to anything of interest?”

“the detective bloke?” says the woman.

“yes.” says john. “to both of you. he received a package about a week or so ago, and then a few more. A woman has asked him to try and discover her identity.”

“like a test?”

“no. she was illegally adopted from the UK at what was guessed to be the age of two, taken to America before she was sold, and then returned for being too old. The, whatever, human traffickers were arrested and she was put into group homes and foster cares. She lived with a foster family who wanted to adopt her but once her lineage was traced back to England, the united states government transferred her back, and a private agency here allowed a wealthy French couple to adopt her at eleven, where she was given private tutoring and education, thrown into music and dance lessons, before running away in her late teens back to America. From that point on she was a performer.”

“what kind of performer?” says Angela, Mike’s girlfriend.

“Many kinds. She was arrested in New York for doing magic tricks and pickpocketing people. they have these… uh.” He snaps thinking. “renaissance fairs. In America. Where people dress up in like period costumes and do terrible accents. She toured that circuit doing everything from henna painting to

playing the violin and singing, to sword fighting. Around twenty she got involved with an opera singer, traveling with her—”

“her?”

“mm. yes. bisexual apparently. Well she moved with her lover back to Europe and made her debut the same year in an operatic version of twelfth night where she assumed the name Juliette Daubeney, but assumed the stage name Joli Salaud, or pretty bastard.”

“no.” says the girl across from him, Helene.

“have you heard of her?”

“Joli Salaud? Are you kidding me?”

“what?”

“She disappeared literally in the middle of a production. And not like, during intermission. She stepped off stage from one scene and didn’t return for the next. The ticket office was robbed, and the theater closed forever not long after that, and sold off and turned into some kind of sex club.” Says Helene.

“what theater was this?” says john, pulling the small notebook he keeps in his breast pocket.


End file.
